Minus the Thirteenth Hour
by Azpidistra
Summary: AU. Set 12 years after the fall of Voldemort. A new generation is at Hogwarts, and as they struggle to find their place in this new world, so too must the older ones struggle to pick up what is left of their lives. Reposted
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: All recognizable characters do not belong to me. Labyrinth characters belong to Jim Henson. Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Fiona Phillips belongs to the _So Weird _universe.

**Author's Notes**: Technically, this story is a sequel/companion fic to my _"Between the Stars"_, which detailed the Jareth's trial for his deeds during the movie _Labyrinth_. In that story, I made several references to other fandoms, including to that of Harry Potter and Hogwarts. This story is built around the revealment that Sarah's parents attended Hogwarts once upon a time ago.

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_He remembered that kitchen, from the house they lived in in Simsbury, Connecticut. He had been five that day. His birthday had been a week earlier, and there was still chocolate cake leftover in the freezer, with that peppermint stripe ice cream that he loved so much. Sarah and Jareth had only left that morning, having spent eight days in the Aboveground, leaving the control of Jareth's kingdom to his and Sarah's good friend, Lady Serena. Sarah was pregnant with their first child, and their parents kept exclaiming over her, his mother and Sarah spending hours at that kitchen table talking about how to decorate the nursery, about whether to have a nanny, whether to educate the child Aboveground when he or she was older._

_He remembered that kitchen. It was white and tan, with maplewood shelving and cupboards, speckled tiles, and a glass table that his mother had brought when she had married his father, saying that it was the only thing she had left from her parents. He remembered sitting at that table a week earlier, Sarah and Jareth, his parents, his mother's other children from her first marriage, his half-siblings Blaise and Fyre, and he, sitting behind the cake, huffing to blow out the candles. Blaise and Fyre weren't often home, usually attending a boarding school in England, spending the holidays with their father who lived in Wales, in the United Kingdom, but always spent a few weeks in the States with their mother. Blaise had graduated that spring before Sarah, but had missed her graduation due to his traveling in Italy and Greece for research; he had sent a card and gift in the post, and Sarah had spent hours giggling and exclaiming over it, almost immediately finding him, thanking him, the two of them spending several minutes on the phone comparing stories, before Sarah had to go, dinner almost ready. Fyre arriving specifically that week for his birthday, her not yet in school, but living with her father primarily. Blaise had showed him maps of where he lived, promising to show him the United Kingdom one day when he was a little bit older._

_He remembered wanting to see England. His father and Sarah's mother were originally from England, having met in school there. His father still had friends there, sometimes receiving strange letters in the post from one Remus J. Lupin, and for a little while, only two years really, a one Sirius Black. Usually those Sirius letters were tucked inside with the Remus letters. His father never read those letters now out loud, but sometimes Toby heard his father and his mother talking about them in whispered tones after he was supposed to be asleep. He remembered asking Blaise about it one time, and Blaise just shrugging, not giving him any answer. How once he found those letters on the kitchen table, all of them, every single one. He remembered that kitchen._

_He remembered that kitchen. He remembered that his fifth birthday had been a week earlier, and that he found those letters, and his father sat him down, and explained to him that he was not like ordinary boys, that he was what was called a wizard. That he was a wizard, that Karen was a witch, that Sarah's mother had been a witch, and that he was a wizard._

_"What about Sarah?" Toby asked._

_He remembered that conversation. Remembered how his father explained that Sarah was what known as a squib, born into a pure wizarding family, but showing no magic abilities of her own. That he and his first wife –Sarah's mother—, met while studying at Hogwarts, that he was in the Gryffindor house, that his best friends were one James Potter, one Sirius Black, one Remus Lupin, and one Peter Pettigrew, that he roomed with them for seven years, and that Linda McCort was in the house Ravenclaw, that they started dating in their sixth year, married only two years after graduating. That they had fought in what was now known as the First War, on the side of Good, under the leadership of Dumbledore. That after their side won the war, they were disheartened from the loss of James and Lily Potter, of the apparent betrayal of Sirius Black, and that they gave up magic, and moved to the States to raise Sarah, harkening their leaving to the decision of wanting to raise their coming daughter in peace. That Linda died when Sarah was only seven years old._

_"And Mommy?" Toby asked._

_Robert explained that Karen was three years ahead of him and Linda, that she was in the house Sytherin, and dated and married a one Martin Zabini, also of Slytherin, not long after they graduated, that she was part of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissus Black's gang, and had dated a Severus Snape before she dated Martin Zabini, that they had their two children, two children of magic from another pure wizarding family. That they re-met when Sarah was ten, Blaise was eleven and Fyre was eight. That they married, and that they had had him, Toby when Sarah was thirteen, and Blaise was fourteen, and Fyre was eleven._

_Toby remembered the way his father sounded, a combination of regret and fear and hesitance, of relief. He remembered all the hushings his mother had done around Blaise and Fyre when they used to practice what he now realized was magic under her supervision. Remembered how Karen had admitted that she had renounced what she had called the Death Eaters, and had spent the War in hiding, that she was almost disheartened to learn that both her children were Slytherins._

_He remembered that kitchen. Remembered how his father allowed him to read all those letters, and how he liked Remus Lupin just from what he read. He remembered that day. Remembered that day a year exactly later when his parents informed him that they moving to England, to a quiet town not far from Salisbury. He remembered that kitchen, remembered how glad Sarah had been that she could now visit them there, remembered how glad he had been, thinking it was closer to the Underground, knowing it was closer to where Blaise and Fyre lived, hoping that one day he too would be in Hogwarts._

_"But what about Sarah?" Toby had asked that day in the kitchen._

_"She's learning a different kind of magic now," Robert explained. "A magic that only Jareth can teach her. She has a knack for it, magic I mean, she was just never meant to learn our kind of magic."_

_Toby remembered believing. He remembered that kitchen._

Toby remembered that kitchen. Even here he was, in his fifth year at Hogwarts, having adapted an almost perfect British accent, he sometimes still couldn't believe that he was really here. But then there were a lot of things he still couldn't believe.

Blaise was a professor, teaching joint classes in Arithmancy, Runes and Astronomy, having married a young witch he met while conducting research in the States, a one Fiona Phillips, now the professor of Muggle Studies. Sarah and Jareth had two children, eight year old Jareth Tobias Quinn and three year old Nova Linda. He had met the famous Harry Potter, who he had known before only from his father finally started talking, the famous Harry Potter who now taught him Defense Against the Dark Arts.

He had lost his parents. That had been the hardest, losing his parents in what was now considered to be the Second Great War. Having to now spend holidays with Sarah and Jareth in the Underground.

Maybe that second part wasn't too terrible.

He had friends, three best friends in fellow Gryffindors Mark Evans and Darwin Weasley, and Hufflepuff Kara Winthrop.

And, he knew, he knew that he actually did belong here. More than he had ever belonged in Simsbury, Connecticut.


	2. I

**Disclaimer**: All recognizable characters do not belong to me. Labyrinth characters belong to Jim Henson. Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Fiona Phillips belongs to the _So Weird _universe.

**Author's Notes**: Technically, this story is a sequel/companion fic to my _"Between the Stars"_, which detailed the Jareth's trial for his deeds during the movie _Labyrinth_. In that story, I made several references to other fandoms, including to that of Harry Potter and Hogwarts.

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It was only the beginning of October and the new Headmaster Severus Snape had called a staff meeting. Two years since Albus Dumbledore had retired; two years since he claimed he had had enough, that after living through the Two Great Wars and the 1945 uprising that he was done, and meant to take a vacation. Some said he was in Bermuda, spending his days on beaches with tropical drinks in hand, holding conversations with Merlin and Archimedes, other said he was in Siberia or Alaska, enjoying the snow and the wind, drinking hot chocolate and holding chess matches with the Yeti. Wherever he was, Minerva McGonagall had followed him.

While most of the Wizarding World–especially those wizards in the United Kingdom—were surprised to learn of Dumbledore's choice of successor, they didn't question it. Most even went so far as to agree that Snape was a good man for the job, that he certainly held the right integrity for the job, even if he sometimes lacked the necessary patience. And he had mellowed some, since Voldemort's defeat, but that might have been as much to do with his recent marriage to Nymphadora Tonks, and the much more recent birth of their now one year old daughter, Esmerelda.

"Now," Snape started the meeting, taking his seat at the head of the table, "first order of business: Quidditch. First game between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor in two weeks time. What seems to be the problem, Potter?"

If Harry Potter was surprised that Snape addressed him, he didn't show it. "We don't have a proper referee. Bloody difficult to have a match without one."

"Why can Oliver not referee?"

"He left."

If Snape felt any compassion from the heartbreak in Harry's voice, he didn't show it. "So find another one."

"I've looked. Tonks said she'd do it, but she'd have Esme with her."

"I'll talk to her." Snape sighed. "Next order of business, the upcoming Hogsmede weekend. Potter, Granger, Firenze, Draco, you've agreed to stay on the ground with Argus. I trust the remaining lot of you will enjoy your time there. Last order, the Yule Ball. If you have suggestions, come with them to the next meeting. Otherwise, don't bother showing. Dismissed."

Snape stood, leaving the room, those robes billowing behind him, leaving no time for anyone to respond. "Well," Hermione finally said, "I should find Arthur and Emma, and I still have those lesson plans to finish. Harry? You coming?"

"You go ahead, Mione. I'll meet with you later."

"Are you certain? I mean---"

"I'll be fine. Go." Only after he was certain Hermione was gone, did he drop his head against the table. A loud crack at the contact of his skull against the wood resonated throughout the room. "Bugger," he muttered, but only half-heartedly.

"You tell them," laughed Fiona. "Or it," she amended.

Harry flashed her a weak smile, and he sat straight, rubbing his forehead. A quick glance around the room, and he confirmed that he, Fiona, Blaise and Draco were the only ones left in the room, that everyone else had followed Snape and Hermione out already. He gave a long, almost inaudible sigh, and he pushed his chair back and stood, all in one fluid motion. "I'll see you three later."

"Is he ok?"

"I don't know." Draco shook his head, inadvertedly shaking some strands loose from his low ponytail. He stared after Harry's exit. "I don't know."

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Since the Second Great War, the entire Wizarding World had tiptoed cautiously around Harry Potter. No one understood Snape's agreement to Dumbledore's intentions of having him teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, especially when it was no secret that Snape longed for that same position, especially when most parents had made no secret that they thought Harry Potter to be dangerous. He had to be dangerous; he had defeated Voldemort, and he had a temper and a certain charisma to match.

The actual stories varied. Some said Harry destroyed Voldemort single-handedly, while others said he had help. Some said he used his magic and wand, while still others said he used Godric Gryffindor's sword. But all agreed on two very important elements: one, that the only person who could clarify the actual events from the varying rumors was Harry Potter himself, and that he refused to talk to anyone outside his closest friends, and that even they knew very little; and two, that Harry Potter had indeed lost much. Probably too much for any single person to endure and live.

Perhaps most notably he had lost several good mates and one best mate, and one godfather (which had been very much what he imagined would be losing his father all over again), and his one-time lover. He had lost any chance he might have had at playing Quidditch or being an Auror. Not that he wanted to be an Auror anymore. After seeing that much bloodshed and that much death, he wouldn't have been able to fill that position very capably. That especially he didn't talk about. Even the still very tender subject of Ron, he and Hermione would sometimes whisper about over late night cups of tea. But his leg was one of those things that certainly fell more into gossip and rumor as to what people knew compared to his truth.

His leg was what had ultimately almost destroyed him physically. His leg was only one more physical scar for him to carry. Most these days, the limp was only barely noticeable, but he had trouble sometimes with stairs, and he couldn't fly on a broom for very long, and he couldn't walk for very long distances at one time. Eventually he had learned to cope with that, but it had taken a lot from him. Between his own pain, and between the mental anguish he had endured, Harry Potter was a changed man. In that last year, in that last fight with Voldemort, he had been forced to grow up; he had been forced to leave his childhood forever.

Perhaps it was that single fact which drove him now. That he lost almost everything.

Except for maybe Remus Lupin.

If he had to describe Remus Lupin in one word he would choose: _sanity_.

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After Harry left the staff room, the other three left dispersed soon after. Fiona mumbled something about finding a way to get a Muggle telephone and light bulb in here to show to a fourth-year class she had early tomorrow morning; Blaise offered to help, but only after he went up to the Astronomy tower to make sure the scopes were ready for the meteor shower he had promised to show to his students that evening, in which case Fiona promised to follow him, joking that they could give the students some competition. To which Blaise laughed.

"Draco?" he asked. "Did you want to come also?"

"Nah, you two go ahead. I think I'm going to try to find where Harry disappeared to."

"Sure," Blaise shrugged. "Come by our rooms later. I still have that book you lent me to return to you."

"Sure, later," Draco agreed.

He forced a smile in the direction of his best friend and his best friend's wife, and waited until they left before he let out his sigh.

Draco Malfoy knew _exactly_ where to find Harry Potter. There was no question in his mind that Harry had gone to the Owlery. The only question on his mind was how much time he should allow Harry before he went to find him.

Certainly no one in the Wizarding World had expected such a deep friendship to spring between two such hated enemies and rivals while in school. But after their fifth year, with his father in Azkaban, Draco had had a lot time to think, and a lot of time to scream at house elves. That was the summer that Blaise had spent more time in the States holidaying with his mother, and meeting his little half-brother's for the first time; that was the summer that Pansy Parkinson was on holiday in France with her parents; that was the summer he tried to distance himself from Crabbe and Goyle… and Voldemort…

He spent many times alone that summer, owling long letters to Snape asking for advice, Snape humoring him with slightly shorter letters in return. Upon the end of the summer, he had come to a decision. He didn't want to follow in his father's footsteps; he didn't want to become a Death Eater.

He wished he could say that he returned to school that year and that everything was better, but that wasn't what happened. It had been a long and hard road uphill to get people to respect him on his own, revised terms, and it was even longer before Harry Potter considered him a friend. He had been more than thankful for Blaise in those waning months, and even on some level, Pansy as well.

He didn't exactly turn to the Light side, but he did distance himself from the Dark. And he didn't make that decision strictly to become friends with Harry Potter, but he knew, that in the back of his mind, ever since he had offered his friendship that day in first year on the train, that there was something about Harry that captivated him, that wanted to be friends with him even as they hated each other. It was right before Finals of sixth year, when he had been sitting at the Lake, when Harry found him and sat down next to him. "_Ever considered just leaving_?" he asked quietly.

Draco didn't remember his response word for word, he didn't figure the actual response to be very important. Just that from that moment on Harry respected him on new, revised terms, and maybe even trusted him. They wrote twice during that following summer, short letters that didn't really say anything, but arriving back for seventh year, it was just understood that they were friends. Even the Weasel and the Mudblood had accepted him eventually, and even eventually he entered uneasy friendships with them.

In retrospect that was probably the best move for both of them: becoming friends. Especially given that final showdown between Harry and Voldemort.

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Just like he predicted, Draco found Harry sitting just inside the Owlery, Hedwig on his arm, with he stroking her feathers, ruffling the wings and the back first one way, then smoothing them out. Hedwig was certainly being very patient.

"I'm not ready to talk, Mione," Harry half-groaned, and half-whispered. He didn't even look up.

"It's not Hermione. It's me."

"Oh, hello, Draco." He sighed, and with only a little difficulty, he stood. Draco knew better than to offer any help. He patted Hedwig's head one last time before he placed her back on her perch. "I decided to send one of the school owls with a letter to Remus, and then realizing I haven't seen Hedwig much recently, thought I'd spend a spell with her."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Potter." Draco shrugged. He leaned in the doorway while Harry walked again into the day's fading sunlight. He offered Harry a shaky smile. "How is Remus?"

"Lonely," Harry shrugged. "He keeps after me about this weekend."

"Are you going to?"

"Maybe." Harry shrugged again. "It'd be nice to see Remus again." Harry leaned against the other pillar of the owlery doorway. "I miss him."

"That's understandable."

Harry shrugged again. His head fell back against the pillar. "I'll tell him you say hello."

"Appreciate it."

Harry didn't say anything. Draco studied him briefly; noticed how his hair fell into his eyes; noticed how his glasses were slightly askew atop the bridge of his nose; noticed those bags underneath his eyes; noticed how plainly that scar on his forehead stood out. "Dinner'd be ready by now," he finally spoke again.

"You go ahead," Harry stated. He had closed his eyes. "I'm not hungry. I'll get something from the kitchens later."

"Hermione will worry if you don't show."

Harry's eyes opened, and a small frowning crease appeared in his forehead. He nodded. "Very well," he noted. "Figure I should probably eat something too. She'd probably alert the Minister if I didn't."

"Probably." Draco allowed himself to smile.


	3. II

**Disclaimer**: All recognizable characters do not belong to me. Labyrinth characters belong to Jim Henson. Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Fiona Phillips belongs to the _So Weird _universe.

**Author's Notes**: Technically, this story is a sequel/companion fic to my _"Between the Stars"_, which detailed the Jareth's trial for his deeds during the movie _Labyrinth_. In that story, I made several references to other fandoms, including to that of Harry Potter and Hogwarts.

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If Toby Williams had to choose his favorite class, he would probably say Astronomy. His two best mates Darwin Weasley and Mark Evans didn't understand that obsession themselves. They both preferred Defense Against the Dark Arts, but then most of the students did.

It wasn't that Toby didn't like Defense Against the Dark Arts. In fact, if he could make a list of all his favorite classes, that one would be third. He just preferred Astronomy first. He supposed that slight obsessions harkened back to all those summer nights that Blaise and Fyre used to visit, and Blaise had enough patience to point out to him the stars constellations and other celestial bodies. Even now, simply being in that class, he remembered those summer nights, back when his parents still lived, back before the Second Great War.

Divination was probably his second favorite class. He had that class with both Mark and Darwin, and they sat together, creating fake and ridiculous predictions, to throw Trelawney off her rocker.

"_You'll die in a goblin rebellion."_

"_You're next true love will have blue eyes."_

"_You will be insanely happy before you die a grisly death."_

"_You will find happiness in your misery."_

Obviously Trelawney ate everything they said like the students ate the meals she often skipped, fearful the crowds of the Great Hall would cloud her inner eye. Quite possibly the highlight of both Mark, Darwin, and Toby's entire existence came one day in late September, when upon leaving Divination to make their way to lunch, still chatting excitedly about the predictions they made for themselves in the class just had, Harry Potter overheard them, sort of half-smiled, and commented, _"Nice to know some things never change."_

"What never changes?" Mark Evans called after him.

Mark Evans was the only one of the three of them who had any audacity to call after a professor like that, especially a professor like Harry Potter. But Mark Evans had something over them that neither Toby nor Darwin nor any other student in the school had for that matter: he was Harry Potter's kin.

It was a rumor that had been hushed in the ministry and wizarding world for years. When Cornelius Fudge still served on that position, his decision to keep Mark Evans hidden was perhaps the best thing he had ever done in regards to Harry Potter. Fearful that Voldemort may go after Mark if he knew about him, he had spirited the boy away to an undisclosed location much like Dumbledore had done for Harry, making sure the two relatives never met.

Until the Second Great War, of course, and then it didn't matter who or what Harry Potter knew. The whole wizarding world had already gone to Hell at that point. And more than half of its wizards—from all the world's corners—followed.

Technically Mark Evans was Harry's uncle but only fifteen years old to Harry's twenty-nine years, that was one small technicality that neither paid much heed to.

"_Fooling Trelawny,"_ Harry answered, and he kept walking.

Harry was one of those professors that even as every student at Hogwarts counted his class among his or her favorites, the actual Professor Harry Potter both awed and scared them. Toby figured on that level he was no exception.

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On the same afternoon that Severus Snape called a staff meeting and that Draco Malfoy found Harry Potter in the Owlery having just owled Remus Lupin, Toby Williams, Darwin Weasley, Mark Evans, and Kara Winthrop met by the Whomping Willow to discuss their plans for this weekend.

"Which Professors are staying?" Mark asked. He was small for his age, almost a full head shorter than both Toby and Darwin, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up in that audacity and generous personality of his. He supposed he had to be, having suffered being Dudley Dursely's punching bag for so many summers. "Firenze, obviously."

"Professor Granger is, I think," Kara spoke up. She sat cross-legged, nestled inside the Willow's long roots, her fingers running over baldes of grass, trying to unsuccessfully blow on them like whistles. "I overheard her talking to Professor Phillips, about how she didn't want to leave Professor Potter alone for too long."

"We can assume Professor Potter is then." Mark checked those three names off the hand-written list that he held.

"As is Professor Malfoy," Darwin added. "No way he'd let Professor Potter alone with Professor Granger for that length of time, or visa versa, on her part."

"So's Filch, and Mrs. Norris." Toby made his own two cents heard, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his uniform pants, shivering slightly in only his sweater, shirt and tie from the bitter October winds.

"Obviously," Mark smirked, but he checked Filch's name off his list all the same. "We have Professors Potter, Granger, Malfoy and Firenze all staying. So is Filch and his bloody cat. We know for certain that Headmaster Snape will not be on campus that day?"

"Correct," Toby nodded again. "He's spending the day with his wife and daughter. Claims it will give him a break from our lot."

"I still don't understand how he has a wife _or_ daughter," snorted Darwin.

"I think it's sweet." Kara gave up on her grass whistles, and she gracefully pulled herself up, and she brushed off the stray dirt from her skirt and and tights. "Besides, he's obviously going to have a life outside of school. We do, don't we?"

"Professors don't have real lives," Mark contradicted her.

Darwin raised his eyebrow, a red eyebrow, just half a shade lighter than the hair he had on top of his head, and he smiled. "They don't?"

Mark snorted again. "Back to business. Toby, our good scout, what says you? How are we to actually get everything we need these walls?"

"Cunning, and much luck." Toby grinned, his nose and whole face crinkling into his smile.

"From here," Darwin interrupted. "My uncles swear there's a passage way from in here that leads directly into Zonko's basement."

"How do we get inside?" Mark asked.

"They didn't tell me that part," Darwin shrugged, and he grinned.

"Well, team," Mark sighed, "we have four days to figure it out."

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From the way these school halls whispered Toby guessed that he and his friends caused as much trouble as his father and friends had caused back in their days, or Darwin's twin uncles in their days. If Professor Harry Potter's expressions were any example, they had to be doing something right.

But that was impossible. Harry Potter's expressions didn't show amusement or bemusement or _anything_.

Harry Potter didn't show feelings. Harry Potter hadn't laughed in over twelve years.

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"Think you'll go home over Christmas holiday?"

Toby looked over to where Mark sat. He was in a quieter, almost more subdued mood –Mark Evans—, an especial rarity for him. They were in the common room, sitting near to the fire, having long abandoned their attempts to finish transfiguration and charms and potions essays.

"Probably not."

"See your sister again?"

Toby shrugged. "Probably."

"She's a queen of sorts, isn't she?"

"Of sorts," Toby nodded. He looked back into the fire flames. "How about you?"

"Stay here, probably."

Toby nodded again. This was just like dinner, and the looks Professor Malfoy and Professor Granger had kept passing over Professor Potter's head.

Life wasn't supposed to be this complicated at fifteen years old.


	4. III

**Disclaimer**: All recognizable characters do not belong to me. Labyrinth characters belong to Jim Henson. Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Fiona Phillips belongs to the _So Weird _universe.

**Author's Notes**: Technically, this story is a sequel/companion fic to my _"Between the Stars"_, which detailed the Jareth's trial for his deeds during the movie _Labyrinth_. In that story, I made several references to other fandoms, including to that of Harry Potter and Hogwarts.

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"Three days," Mark Evans declared ominously between walking from one class to another.

"I owled my Uncles, but still have no response," responded Darwin.

"Three days," Mark repeated. "Three days. Owl them again."

Toby ignored the feeling to pat Mark's shoulder. Even as he didn't entirely understand where the feeling had come from.

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Toby Williams lingered after his Potions lesson. Professor Draco Malfoy ignored him for several seconds while he muttered several cleaning spells to tidy the room from the Gryffindor/Slytherin Double Potions lesson. Toby didn't move. He sat in the seat he had occupied throughout the duration of the lesson, and having already waved off his friends telling them he'd meet up with them later, he had nothing to but wait.

"Pro-Professor?" he asked.

"Yes?"

Toby opened his mouth to ask another questions, but lost his nerve, and he closed it again, shaking his head, whispering, "Nothing."

Draco cocked his head to one side. "Better get then. You are late for class. One minute more, I shall take points from your House for it."

"Yes, sir." And he hurried from the room.

Draco sighed; he fell into his desk chair. He leaned his elbows across the desk, his chin in his upturned palms. He still sat like that when Blaise Zabini knocked on his door several minutes later. "Toby just ran down the hall stammering about Points. Are you threatening students again, Draco?"

A half-smile crossed over Draco's lips. "No, just your brother."

"I see." Blaise stepped inside the room and sat in a front desk. "Sure you don't want to come with us to Hogsmede? Fiona and I both think it may do Harry some good to get outside these walls. Even if only for a few hours."

"His mind is made up. Try asking him though."

Blaise shrugged. He sat in silence for another minute before he asked, "What did Toby want? I didn't think he liked Potions."

"He doesn't."

Blaise nodded. He stood. "Well, let me know." He was gone. Draco could do nothing but nod.

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Alone in the Gryffindor Common Room, Toby Williams wondered just at what precise moment he had managed to fall into love with his best friend, if he was even certain that he was actually in love, and if was or not, if he was even supposed to say.

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Harry Potter sat in his office. An open letter from Remus Lupin rested atop his desk. It was only the very last lines that he really cared about.

**I don't want you to think that you are under any obligation to visit me, Harry. From what you mentioned in your last letter it certainly sounds like you have plenty of friends at Hogwarts that keep looking out for you, and you certainly do not need any company from a aging lonely werewolf like myself, but—and it here that I sigh—I think we both know that we could do with some old comfort and even older memories of friendship. My house is always open to you, Harry. Let me know when and how you will be arriving. **

He immediately wrote a response. He'd arrive late Friday evening after his last class but before dinner. He'd Floo. And he would have to be back Sunday night. He sealed the letter. When he heard the knock on his office door, he didn't speak, hoping that whoever it was, they'd leave him alone.

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Hermione too was in her quarters, but when she heard the knock on her door, she hurried to answer it. "You're late," she chided.

"Sorry," her visitor answered. "I had a student stay after class, one of yours actually. Blaise stopped in to discuss Harry. And I needed to run an errand to Severus' office."

"Still Snape's little golden boy, aren't you?" she whispered.

"Would you have it any other way?"

And she welcomed his mouth and his hands on hers.

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Draco and Hermione had been seeing one another for almost six months. Hermione referred to it as a twisted and adult form of dating. Draco called it sleeping together. Usually he used more vulgar terms. That was really the only call for arguement between Draco and Hermione these days, at least in the privacy of their own separate quarters, Hermione hated hearing Draco swearing in front of her young children, and continually told him so. Draco did his best not to, but even he, especially he, occassionally slipped.

Most nights they didn't bother to leave one or the other's living quarters, one or the other knocking on the other's door under the necessary cloak of darkness or invisibility, and leaving again in the very early dawn light. After six months and still no one knew about them; they wished to keep it that way. Even their closest friends, even their closest friends within Hogwarts walls—Blaise and Fiona and Harry—didn't know about them.

Certainly they had never meant for anything quite like this to happen. Certainly Hermione never expected to be attracted to anyone again after Ron's death, and certainly Draco never expected to to be attracted to anyone after Pansy's death. If he could really call what he and Pansy had had as true attraction, and not some twist of their own truth and lies and parents' games. But he supposed that this game he now played with Hermione was no worse than any scheme his and Pansy's collective parents had dreamed up while they were still young, in school, and fairly impressionable.

On the surface Draco and Hermione were still only barely tolerant of one another. All of their Hogwarts colleagues and most of those in the greater outside wizarding world believed that they only actually talked and acknowledged each other's prescence for Harry's sake. It was no secret that Harry and Hermione were best friends, that Hermione was argueably Harry's closest and certainly oldest friend, that their relationship was sometimes almost siblingly; nor was it no secret that Harry considered Draco to be one of his best friends. But Draco's and Hermione's own relationship was seen as oil and water: they continuously butted heads when it came down to what Harry needed or wanted, and usually if one heavy-heeded arguement didn't errupt between them at least once a week their friends thought something was wrong. Not that Draco and Hermione minded their roles. Often they found that feigned anger and yelling lead to much better sex.

It had been one of those shouting matches—this one very much real—six months earlier that had first led to their coupling together. It had been almost a year and a half after Ron had passed away, and Hermione had her hands full with Ron's and hers twins, teaching, and overseeing Gryyfindor as its Head of House. Draco had probably equally had his hands full as Potions instructor (now that Snape had been promoted to Headmaster), Deputy Headmaster under Snape, and Head of Slytherin. Not to mention dealing with own grief over Pansy's death. (Even as at the time of her death Draco and Pansy were no longer 'together', she had proven to be a loyal ally and even greater friend in those last years). At the time of their argument, Hermione was only just finally beginning to live again after Ron's death, still sometimes whispering in hushed tones with Harry about their mutual friend, and Draco had made the mistake of calling Ron 'the Weasel' in jest. Hermione had mistaken his jest for intent, shot back her own comment not in jest, and one thing lead to another to the point where they could no longer handle the built-up tension between them and Draco kissed Hermione. Hard. They had had sex that night in her room, where like every night they slept in her quarters, they moved and cried to the gentle rhythmic sounds of the heart monitors Hermione had set up next to her bed for each of her twins. Next to the picture of Ron. In Draco's quarters, when they slept there, he still had a picture of him and Pansy from happier times on his nightstand. Those pictures of old lovers and loves comforted them, and guided them, into these new uncharted waters of new beginnings and new relationships.

Neither was ready to use the word ;'love'. In their minds, that sentiment still belonged to the ones who had come before.

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Two days before the Hogsmede excursion, Harry Potter found himself in the Headmaster Snape's office. He sat in the chair just on the other side of the towering wooden desk under Snape's own towering gaze, and Harry swallowed, but he held his own. "Any news from Tonks yet?" he asked brightly—a little _too brightly_—as way of conversation starter.

"Yes, she'd agreed to it," Snape answered in an almost apathetic tone.

"Will she be bringing Esme with her?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "The whereabouts of my daughter, Potter, are none of your concern. Quidditch or no Quidditch."

"Yes, sir." Harry nodded smartly, almost jauntily, but the smile he had held on his face only seconds before deflated as suddenly as it had appeared leaving Harry's true expression: that of an utter bone-deep exhaustion no sleep or draught could cure, and an utter weariness that even after two years of life had still not left him; it was a heaviness that ran deep in his eyes, his mannerisms, and his very essence. "I want permission to request vacation from my duties this weekend."

"This weekend, Potter?"

"From manning the fort while the soldiers march to Hogsmede. Draco and Hermione have agreed to cover for me." That was a lie. Harry hadn't even told Hermione and Draco that he was planning to go anywhere other than the Hogwarts' halls for this weekend. But he was hoping on the fact that Snape wouldn't call him on his bluff. "I promised Remus I'd visit him."

"I see." Snape sat back further in his chair and crossed his arms at the elbows. "I know you're lying, Potter. Don't you think just because the rest of the wizarding world treats you like you're special means that you can shirk from your duties here. Understood?"

"Of course." Harry nodded again, and he rose from the chair. He cocked his head slightly in place of an actual spoken good-bye, and moved to the door.

"Harry?" Snape called. Harry half-turned from where he stood, his hand already on the doorknob. "Make sure Lupin doesn't corrupt you in any shape or form this weekend. I want Hogwarts' half-way decent Defense professor to come back a little better than he left."

A tiny smile graced Harry's lips. He cocked his head once more, and he was gone. Snape heard the echoing of his shoes half-way down the hall before the sound faded away.

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Toby Williams had made the executive decision to skip the afternoon's Divination. He feigned illness to his friends, and he made off to see Pomfrey in the Infirmary. He ignored the Look that Mark Evans had shot him as he was walking away, a look that was both pinching and questioning, daring Toby to call his own bluff.

But Toby didn't. And he didn't go to the Infirmary. Instead he wound his way around towards the entrance of the Whomping Willow, and he sat between two roots. A shadowy figure detached herself from the tree and sat down next to him. Toby smiled shakily. "Thanks for coming," he spoke.

Sarah, formerly Sarah Williams,now Sarah, Queen of the Goblins and Co-Ruler of the Labyrinth smiled down at her baby brother, ruffled his hair, and asked, "What seems to be the problem?"

"When'd you know you fancied Jareth?"

Sarah fell back on her haunches to lean against the tree again. Her white dress gracefully flowed around her, skimming the tops of her silver slippers. "I think I always knew. I just had to realize it."

"When did you realize it?"

Another smile crossed Sarah's face. "About one minute too late past the thirteenth hour." Sarah cocked her head slowly. "Why the sudden interest?"

Toby shrugged. "I don't know."

"You're in love?"

"I am not…"

Sarah laughed not un-kindly. That sounded very much like a much younger Toby when he was still old enough to pout and get away with it. "It was only a guess, brother mine." She knelt down on her feet and bended knee to his eye level.

This time Toby did truly pout. "I hate being transparent."

"You're not transparent, Toby. You just have many people who care for you. Blaise, Fyre and myself all included. Now, tell me dear, who's the lucky girl, or guy?"

Toby swallowed, and he shook his head. "N-no one. I'm only asking."

Sarah smiled. She began to idly smoothe a crease in her dress. "You remember Tiana and Flynn, don't you?" Toby nodded; his eyes had grown wide. "Amazing how after almost three hundred and more years they're still together. They still pull their shows in court. Luckily, Perkins is very tolerant of their charades."

"Sarah?"

"Don't be ashamed when it comes to love, Toby. Only the best are lucky when it comes down to it, and we all deserve a little luck." She leaned in to ruffle his hair again. "Let me know how it goes, Tobes."

"Don't call me Tobes," he mumbled but Sarah had already disappeared. Only a trail of delicate silver glitter evidenced that she had even been there.

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When Mark Evans found Toby in the Gryffindor Common Room later, he rounded on the boy and cuffed his shoulder. Toby barely flinched. "Darwin got the coordinates from his uncles."

"Good."

Mark regarded Toby carefully. "Did you know that he and Kara had got together?"

"Yes."

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It was after dinner already when Harry had a minute to escape down to the Owlery. He had sent Hedwig with his last letter to Remus, and she had been down waiting for him when he got back from dinner. Remus' letter was only one line:

**Look forward to it.**

Harry now took some time to affectionally pet Hedwig's wings, while she affectionately reciprocated with a few gentle nips at his fingers. "Wish I could take you with me. Bet you'd love to see Remus again too, wouldn't you?"

Stepping into the night light again, Harry rounded the entrance back to Hogwarts. If it wasn't for the slight limp that had been bothering him more recently, he almost had a bounce in his step.


End file.
